The Way of Things
by Luciddreamer326
Summary: A VERY short drabble/one-shot in regards to the promo for "Under My Skin." Rating change to light M. House/Cuddy.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Way of Things

Category: Drabble  
Rating: T  
Spoilers: Promo for 5x23

-

She just attended a funeral and knows that some day, she might be attending his. The melancholy sits tight in her and her heart constricts and aches inside the cavity of her chest.

His blue eyes are tired, weary. Somehow, he seems to be a physical self reflection of how she feels emotionally. The midnight hours chip away on both of their faces and crack in their bones. She has spent a night in his bed, staring at the ceiling as the lamps on the road casted dancing shadows everywhere, like an Alaskan aurora.

Her emotions are dangerously close to the spillway as he stands in too close a proximity, threatening to overflow and create puddles at her feet. The only move she knows to make is to delude the situation, to make it watered and less powerful to swallow.

"You want to kiss me, don't you."

It comes out more fact than a teasing remark. Her mind and voice have failed to counteract the syrupy thickness of want folding around the contours of their bodies.

"I always want to kiss you," he answers without a trace of malice or jest in his voice.

She stiffens slightly to the remark and feels the heat rise on her skin. It's the first reaction and she knows what the next of the steps will be: Softening, molding, becoming pliable underneath the fingers of a man who knows little of shaping beautiful things.

"This man is forbidden," her brain screams to her as she fixes her gaze on the glaze of moisture coating his lips, like he is paving the way for her to him.

She's known the plaster has been chipping away for a while now, removing herself from the fact that she has needed to replace it for some time. The foundations shake and she quakes, giving in to something stronger than even she can withstand.

She thinks, in another life, she might have been able to. A life without Gregory House hobbling behind her, tucked inside a shadow.

Nothing seems to matter as his lips connect to hers. She tastes the fruit of self betrayal, the promise to herself to never fall in love with a broken creature. They are both mixed fractions, pieces. It is a nice thought to think that if someone were capable of linking and weaving the particles, that they would resemble something of a whole.

House is not meant to be complete though. And as he pulls her back inside of his door, she thinks she isn't either.


	2. Centrifugal Force

Title:

Category: Drabble  
Rating: Light..M (a bad word or two and some hot times)  
Spoilers: Huddy promo for 5x23

A/N: Yeah, whatever. I don't know how you can do light M on anything but I don't know if I can do the whole "Huddy promo" a justice. I call this my humble "attempt."

-

It feels like the world is unraveling, a less than kept together ball of yarn tangling her limbs.

She has no idea where the road began, only that she is standing somewhere on the edge of life and leaping.

His arms encircle her waist like creeping ivy and his fingers leave a searing tale of chaotic lust on her body, a book to be read by the world. She feels her own desire lapping at the barriers of sanity as the cornflower fabric of her shirt begins its' ascent. It's betrayal in the purest form as she works her own hands in tandem with his.

All of the days seem a blur inside of her head now: the banter, the frustration, the angst, the heartache. She tries to shove aside the reminders of every yesterday and live solely in the moment.

When she leaned in to taste him, she only intended to tease, sample, preview the unimaginable and everything that could never transpire between them. As she felt him sending her back into the oak of the desk, she knew all hope was lost for a smooth escape from temptation.

Now, he drags her along, much to her amazement. She thinks she touches every surface of his apartment as they move sideways, parts of it fusing to the beaded sweat on her skin. Her mouth is greedy and wanton, desperately pulling their bodies as close as physically allowed.

His jacket falls with a thud and her shirt flutters with a sing-song cadence on the cool air from the vents. Her flesh prickles from the sensations of his body and the atmosphere. It's a dream. It has to be, she thinks as she spins him, his body finding solace in the river of sheets on his bed.

Idly, she pauses millimeters away from the ravine of his mouth. Her breath curls around his cheek bones and becomes carbon dioxide.

"House," she breathes, like a frail plead or prayer.

She isn't sure which as his hands tuck themselves into the contours of her breasts. Like a sculpture, he molds and shifts and rearranges the elements of her nature. His signature becomes the wet marks along her carotid artery, and she wonders what she will look like once this is all done.

Beneath her, he is stone and she isn't sure she remembers exactly how it will all feel when the barriers have been shattered and she is raw and vulnerable.

Frantic, unbridled, off the hinge. He poises so close to where she wants him most and yet, isn't sure it's where she needs him to be. Nothing separates their bodies from the inevitable joining of natural force. The biological urge to connect and to be filled encompasses her. She encourages him into her most private of places with a gentle nudge of her hips against his own.

Connection, eradication of emptiness comes. Her eyes slam into darkness and her brow knits together. She thinks she sees stars but they crackle and fizzle, dissipating into nothing. Joining leads to friction, and eventually, to ecstasy.

This is dangerous. It is probably a mistake. She aims to make it the most perfect one she has ever made.


End file.
